


To Carry

by santanico



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He lets the scrape of too-sharp teeth against his throat remind him that dead or not, he is still alive. He is still pumping blood, he is still breathing, he is still able to bruise and bleed and kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Carry

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [С собой](https://archiveofourown.org/works/832201) by [chemerika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemerika/pseuds/chemerika)



Benny’s fingers leave bruises around his wrists in ways Dean hasn’t experienced in much too long. He gives in, he breathes and sighs and wrecks himself. He lets the scrape of too-sharp teeth against his throat remind him that dead or not, he is still alive. He is still pumping blood, he is still breathing, he is still able to bruise and bleed and kill.

It’s animalistic, but not in the same way Dean would have ever expected it to be. Benny doesn’t hurt him unless they’re pressed together, hungry and fast and no words – only the quiet of the forest looming around them, only the empty paths with no strangers.

There is no sun in purgatory. Still, it’s better than hell. The nights are dark as pitch and cold but Benny has a sense of possession, his mouth on Dean’s neck, a hand on his hips, rubbing through the fabric. To each other they rush, to each other they lunge. Dean ignores self-doubt, he ignores the rippling sense of guilt that aches and gnaws in his belly. He loses himself in clenched fists and high pressure. 

He remembers the poetry he read in high school, he remembers the beat of drums in his favorite songs. He remembers the sting of dirt in his eyes as blood splatters over his face, the taste of it in his mouth old, dank. Dead.

Everything else screams alive, but none of them are.

But then they sit quiet. They don’t need to eat, though Benny still drinks what he can, even if it’s the blood of other monsters. But Dean’s never hungry, leaning against trees and dabbing at wounds with dirty clothes. His bones never stop feeling like they’re on fire. His eyes never stop aching, and he thinks maybe he’s just got a permanent concussion. He wonders if any of this stuff really matters. He wonders, if he gets out, if he’ll even remember what it was like. Hell was flashbacks and then suddenly it was being haunted. 

But this isn’t the same. The days feel long, they feel human. The same as on Earth, but maybe that’s what hell felt like too and Dean’s just forgotten.

Earth just feels wrong. It's faster, everyone jostling each other, everyone smiling and laughing – everyone human and alive. He’s gotten used to having to cover himself in dirt so monsters couldn’t sense what he was. He had gotten used to running away and then he’d gotten used to becoming the predator.

A vampire named Benny with his own agenda. Dean wonders if letting Benny back into this world was wrong. He wonders if wrong even exists anymore. He wonders if Sam is right.


End file.
